


Methos' Lapse

by dkwilliams



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M, None - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:53:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5061844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dkwilliams/pseuds/dkwilliams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos overhears something that he shouldn't and then tries to deal with what he has learned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Methos' Lapse

**Author's Note:**

> Written before 1999

_"This was the lapse of Uriel,_ _  
Which in Paradise befell._  
_Once, among the Pleiads walking,_  
_Sayd overheard the young gods talking;_  
_And the treason, too long pent,_  
_To his ears was evident…_ _  
A sad self-knowledge fell_  
_On the beauty of Uriel;_  
_In heaven once evident, the god_  
_Withdrew that hour into his cloud."_

"Uriel" by Ralph Waldo Emerson

*******************

"So, when do you plan to tell Adam?"

Methos paused on the outside stairs to the loft and looked up at the mention of his name by a voice he vaguely recognized. The door at the top stood open – Duncan was obviously airing the place out.

 _Connor_ , he thought, placing the voice after a moment. That's right – Duncan had mentioned something about his cousin coming over today to look through some of the stuff the elder MacLeod had left in the storage area of the old building. The younger MacLeod had been sorting through all the items stored there for some reason and, rather than get pulled into another day of cleaning, Methos had opted to do the grocery shopping. It appeared that he had timed this well – not only had the two men finished but they were also talking about him. He grinned and leaned against the wall, knowing that he was out of sensing range, and prepared to listen in.

He heard Duncan sigh. "I don't know. I've been waiting for the right moment…"

"Which is never going to come," the elder MacLeod said gruffly. "Duncan, lad, this situation can't go on much longer, and it's just going to get worse the longer you delay telling him."

Methos straightened at that and revised his thoughts about eavesdropping. Whatever issue of conscience Duncan was wrestling now, Methos was certain that he didn't want to get pulled into it – _especially_ if it involved him. Better to make some noise, let them know he was here, or – better still – go around to the dojo and come up through the elevator.

"It's not so easy as it sounds," Duncan's voice complained. "It was hard enough to get him to move _in_ to begin within. Getting him to move _out_ is going to be hell."

Methos dropped the bags in his hands, not noticing as cans and produce scattered around his feet. _Duncan wanted him to leave? But -_ His mind replayed the previous night, his body pinned under the Highlander's as the other man slowly fucked him, Duncan's mouth leaving bites and bruises all along the older Immortal's neck. Absently, Methos' hand rubbed the skin of his neck although the marks had long since healed.

"You can't put it off much longer. Amanda will be arriving the day after tomorrow and you know she won't be able to resist saying something to him."

"I know." Duncan's voice sounded stressed. "Connor, maybe you could keep her out of the way for a few days, give me enough time to break the news to Adam – "

"And how long do you claim to have known Amanda?" Connor snorted. "She'll know something is up, and then the shit will _really_ hit the fan."

Methos closed his eyes. _Of course. Now it all began to make sense._

He had known when he gave in to Duncan's seduction that this was an aberration in the Highlander's usual sexual repertoire. The Scot had been an enthusiastic lover of women for the past four hundred years, and had been carrying an off-and-on-again relationship with Amanda for the past few hundred years. Duncan had freely admitted that he loved the little thief on that memorable evening on the barge, while confessing that he really didn't know or understand the oldest Immortal. Methos had never told the other man how much that statement had hurt; he had long ago accepted that he was pathetic enough to accept whatever scraps of affection the Highlander occasionally threw in his direction. So he had shrugged and gone on, accompanying Joe back to Seacouver and deciding to settle down there for awhile himself – looking for a flat, a job, a life of his own.

He had found a job as linguist with the prestigious, if under-funded, museum affiliated with the University, but he had never gotten around to finding a place to live. Within two weeks of his arrival in Seacouver, Duncan had shown up, furious with the older Immortal for running off – again – without a word. Methos had been fairly certain that he had told the Scot that he intended to escort Joe back home but he had been unable to say anything because by that point Duncan had him pinned against the wall and was thoroughly ravishing his mouth. Not that Methos had protested - he was hardly about to complain about something that had _finally_ pushed them beyond the games they had playing since their first meeting.

Methos had managed to retain enough sanity to check that Duncan really wanted this, that it wasn't some Quickening-induced lust or adolescent curiosity about the other side of the playing field. Duncan's reassurances had left him walking funny the next day with a smile that couldn't have been beaten off him with a stick. He had felt so good, in fact, that he had even refused to be baited by Duncan's smug self-satisfaction or Joe's teasing that it was about damn time.

And now it appeared that the Idyll of the past six months was over. Amanda was coming to town, and the Scot had apparently come back to his senses, had realized that he really did prefer women. And, being the boy scout that he was, Duncan was agonizing over how to gently break the news to him – and to get him out of the loft before Amanda once more took up residence there.

Methos drew in a deep, shaky breath and his mouth took on a determined set. _Very well,_ he thought. If Duncan wanted him out, then he would go, and he wouldn't wait for the other man to work up the courage to ask him to leave.

Feeling as if he was encased in ice, he knelt and reassembled the groceries that had spilled from the bags, then started back up the stairs, this time being careful to make plenty of noise as he approached to alert the two men inside the loft. Duncan greeted him with a smile – one that appeared a little guilty to Methos – and took the sacks from him. Methos nodded a curt hello to Connor and grabbed a beer from the fridge, collapsing on the couch and wondering how the hell he was going to get through this evening until he could reasonably expect Duncan to leave him alone.

For once, luck seemed to be with him.

"Want to go over to Joe's for awhile?" Duncan asked from the kitchen. "He's got a new group playing tonight – supposed to be pretty good."

Methos feigned a yawn. "I think I'll pass. I'm too tired to do the social routine."

"I'm buying," Duncan said with a teasing grin.

Anger suddenly boiled up inside the oldest Immortal. _How dare the infant think that he could be bought with a beer or two,_ he fumed. _What does he think I am – a whore?_ "I said I'll pass," he said sharply, aware that the two MacLeods exchanged a look but at the moment he couldn't care less.

"O-kay," Duncan said. "Look. We've got a couple errands to run, then we'll go to Joe's. Why don’t you get a little rest and then you can join us later?"

Methos shrugged and nodded at that, more to get Duncan to shut up and get out than anything else, and Duncan looked relieved. The Highlander fetched he coat and then stopped by the couch to brush a kiss over Methos' hair before heading for the elevator with Connor in tow.

Methos waited until he was certain that they were gone and then got up from the couch. He fetched his duffle bag from the storage closet where it had taken residence for the past months while he had wallowed in ignorant bliss. It took him very little time to pack it – he had had centuries of practice at quick exits, after all – but his books and personal possessions were another matter. Over the past few months, he had started bringing his favorite things out of storage. Duncan had treated the opening of each box like it was Christmas and Methos had gotten caught up in his excitement – each piece of artwork or book had to have its history told before being lovingly installed into a new location or regretfully packed away in the dojo's storage space until room could be found for it. That's what had started Duncan on his current cleaning project, muttering about how there just wasn't enough usable space in the loft and the clutter that seemed to have taken over the rest of the building.

He went down to the store room and fetched up some of the empty boxes, carefully and quickly packing away what he couldn't take with him today and setting the things that he couldn't bear to be parted with on the bed. By the time he finished, he was tired and sweaty – and had accumulated more than his duffle could carry. He took the last box down to the store room and brought back one of Duncan's suitcases – he would send it back to MacLeod after he had gotten settled wherever he ended up.

Leaving a note for Duncan took almost as long as packing had, and he went through three drafts before he found the right blend of humor and carelessness for his farewell. After all, he didn't want to make the other Immortal angry – although at the moment he couldn't think just _why_ since he was, himself, torn between grief and fury. But there was the fact that they were bound to bump into each other from time to time, especially if he continued to live in Seacouver and visit with Joe. Of course, it would be better to cut his losses completely and just go far away and never look back, but at the moment he didn't have the energy to take that final step.

Methos set the note down on the coffee table, then removed the keys to the dojo and the loft from his key ring and set them on top. Then, picking up his duffle and borrowed suitcase, he walked out of the loft and into the night.

 

*****************

It was late afternoon almost a month later when he walked into Joe's place. The place was nearly empty, being the lull between the lunch crowd and happy hour, and Methos almost walked back out. But Mike had seen him, a big welcoming grin on his face, and the sight of welcome on a friendly face was too much for him to resist. So he decided to just make it a quick one and sat down at the bar, wrapping his hands around the beer Mike set in front of him.

He had nearly finished the beer and was debating whether he could handle another one or whether he should leave now when he felt something solid and cold in the middle of his back. He stiffened, all too aware of what a gun in the back felt like.

"All right, you son-of-a-bitch. You're going to keep your hands up where I can see them, and we're going to walk to that back table, and then you're going to tell me just what the _hell_ you think you've been doing."

Methos winced at the tone in Joe's voice, a combination of anger and relief, and tried for levity. "I'll pay my tab, Joe! I swear! Just put that thing away."

"Not on your life, old man! And I swear I'll shoot you if you take so much as one step towards the door before I get an explanation."

The oldest Immortal sighed and gave in, knowing just how stubborn Joe could be. He picked up his glass, noticing that Mike had refilled it, and carried it over to the table Joe indicated then sprawled in the chair.

He could feel Joe's eyes assessing him and didn't look up, knowing how he appeared. For the past three weeks, he had been holed up in a cheap hotel room, emerging only to replenish his stock of alcohol. He had started with beer but had gradually switched over to whisky, finding a certain ironic comfort in drowning his sorrows with Scotch. He thought that he had probably died from alcohol poisoning once or twice along the way, but it hadn't seemed to matter.

Ironically, it was his latest death that morning – cracking his skull open when he had passed out in the bathroom – that had sobered him up in more ways than one. For his own sanity, not to mention continued existence, he had to leave town and start over somewhere else. So he had showered and shaved, dressed in the only clean clothes he had left, and had booked a flight to Indonesia that night. Then he had decided that he owed it to Joe to say good-bye in person, so he had dropped by the bar before he headed to the airport. Only that looked like it hadn't been the smartest thing he had ever done.

"You look like hell, my friend," Joe said, his voice gruff with kindness and worry.

Methos smiled crookedly; Joe apparently knew about the break up. He refrained from asking the Watcher if Amanda was still at the loft, or whether the pair had returned to Paris. At the moment, he really didn't want to know. "I've felt better before in my life," he admitted then added quietly, "It's all right, Joe. I'm going to be fine – I've just got to go away for awhile."

To his surprise, that seemed to make Joe even angrier. "So that's it, huh? Just going to run away and hide someplace, and not even _talk_ to him? What happened anyways? He got too close, got under your skin, and you panicked?"

Methos looked up, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Mac! Do you know what he's been going through this past month? He's looked for you everywhere – even flew back to Paris last week on the chance that you'd gone there."

He felt his mouth drop open and was helpless to stop it. "Mac? He's been looking for _me_?"

"Of course, you idiot! He's got some damn fool idea in his head that you're in trouble and trying to keep him out of it!"

Methos drew in a breath and dropped his eyes down to his beer again. Of course – the Highlander's sense of honor would require that he protect a past lover. "Well, you can tell him that I'm fine, I'm not in any kind of trouble."

"You can tell him yourself."

The words and the wash of Immortal presence hit him at the same time and he jerked up from his sprawl, his eyes automatically turning towards the door. And there stood Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, big as life and twice as angry.

He sucked in a breath and thought momentarily of making a break for the back door, but if Joe didn't shoot him first, Duncan would no doubt kill him before he could reach it. So he slouched back down in his chair and pulled on his mask of careless indifference. _It's only for fifteen minutes – thirty, tops – while he makes sure I'm not being hunted, then I'll be out of here and on that plane._

"MacLeod," he said lightly as the silent Scot reached their table. "You're looking good." And it was true – Duncan looked incredibly good to his starving eyes, even if his face was drawn and his eyes were shadowed with what appeared to be fatigue. _Looks like the delectable Amanda is keeping the boy up past his bedtime_ , he thought with a little smirk, even as the thought made him ache.

Those eyes flicked to Joe with a clear message and the Watcher stood up. "Looks like you two have some talking to do, so I'll just be in my office." He set his gun down on the table. "Feel free to use it if you have to, Mac."

"I will," Duncan said, and there was a grim note to his voice.

Methos shut his eyes and sighed. "What did I do to piss you off this time, Highlander? I left a note – "

"Aye," Duncan said, pulling the note out of his pocket and tossing it down on the table. "What in the hell did you mean by that? 'It's been fun, Mac, but there's a beach in Bora-Bora calling my name. Give the charming Amanda my regards, and I'll send for the rest of my things when I get settled'. What kind of a note is that?"

Methos stared blankly at the note that had taken him more time to compose than some of the sonnets he had written centuries earlier. "Okay, what made you so mad?"

"You disappeared without even _talking_ with me!" Duncan roared. "You left me!"

Methos suddenly didn't have the energy to maintain any facades anymore. "Isn't that what you wanted?" he asked quietly.

Duncan's mouth dropped open. "How can you have possibly thought that I _wanted_ you to leave? Dammit, I told you that I loved you – did you think I was lying?"

"No, Mac," Methos said with a tired sigh. "I think you meant it at the time, just as you meant it when you told Amanda that you loved her in Paris."

"That's the second time you've mentioned Amanda," Duncan said, irritated. "What does she have to do with any of this?"

"It's all right, Mac. I understand that you were – for a short time – intrigued by the idea of sex with men. I don't blame you for coming to your senses and realizing that you still prefer women."

Duncan stared at him as if he thought he had lost his mind. "What in hell are you talking about?"

"I was on the stairs, heard you talking to Connor," Methos said simply. Duncan blinked, obviously trying to recall what he had said, and Methos decided to help him out. "You were talking about how to get me to move out before Amanda arrived in town."

To his surprise, Duncan suddenly burst out laughing. Methos glowered at him. "I'm glad you think this is so funny," he said sarcastically.

"You are an idiot," Duncan said affectionately, relief clear on his face, and he stood up. "Come with me."

Methos crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. "No."

Duncan leaned over the table and said, "Don't push it, Methos. Either you get up and come with me willingly, or I shoot you and _carry_ you out. It makes no difference to me."

Methos glared but stood up. "Fine. Let's get this over with – I have a plane to catch."

 

*****************

Methos sat in the passenger side of the car, arms crossed, trying to maintain his anger, but it was increasingly hard to do so. Duncan was concentrating on driving and seemed unaware of the looks that Methos kept sneaking. _Damn, but the Highlander looked good,_ he thought. The lines of tension around his eyes had eased, and although he still looked tired, he seemed to be happy about something. A small smile quirked up one corner of his mouth, and Methos found his attention was fixed on that beautiful mouth, wanting to touch it, taste it, one more time.

As if sensing that he was being watched, Duncan turned his head and his eyes met Methos'. The look in those brown eyes, one of intense desire overlaid with affection, made Methos gasp, instantly hard and needy. He wrenched his eyes away, turning to stare blindly out the window, vaguely aware of the soft chuckle behind him.

Duncan turned off the main road onto the shoreline drive, an area of town that had recently been "rediscovered" and resettled by the more eclectic and off-center portions of Seacouver's population. Methos began to wonder in spite of himself what the man was up to, but since it was obvious that Duncan wanted him to ask, Methos determinedly locked his lips together. He'd be damned before he gave into whatever game the wily Scot was playing.

The car turned into a driveway and Duncan shut off the engine. "Get out."

Methos glared. "What is with you and all these bloody orders? 'Come with me', 'Get in the car', 'Get out of the car' – "

Duncan came around to the passenger side of the car and opened the door. "Out." Then he turned and headed towards the house ahead, pulling out a set of keys as he did, as if he couldn't care less if Methos followed.

Methos grumbled and got out of the car, following Duncan down the driveway. As he walked, he studied the building ahead of him. It was a house built in the free-form style of architecture popular lately and was constructed from a combination of stone and wood, although the stones looked like they might be older than the house itself. He followed Duncan through the open front door, aware of a feeling of light and warmth flooding the entryway from the windows and skylights. Off to the left he glimpsed a Great Room with a few pieces of furniture swathed with dust covers; it looked equally light and warm and he had the fleeting thought that it would be nice to stretch out in a patch of sunlight there.

Duncan had gone around the corner and Methos followed him into a room that appeared to run along the back of the house – and then stopped in his tracks in the doorway, staring open-mouthed.

It was obviously a library – the built-in bookshelves that covered three of the four walls from floor to vaulted ceiling were a dead giveaway. A walkway with a spiral staircase ran around the walls halfway up, and he could see a perfect reading nook was set up there. Windows looked out over the wooded back of the property, tinted to allow in the light while keeping out rays that would damage the books filling one shelf. Other than that shelf of books and the boxes piled over to one side, the room was empty.

Methos' eyes narrowed. The boxes looked familiar, as did the books on that shelf. He crossed the room to the bookshelf and let his fingers caress the leather bindings lovingly. "And what are you doing here, my children?" he murmured.

"I put them there," Duncan said from close behind him. "I wanted to see how they looked."

"This place is yours?"

"Ours. Your name is on the paperwork, too – at least, Adam Pierson's name is."

Methos was stunned. "Ours? You bought this place for us?"

Duncan seemed to suddenly panic. "Look, I know it was presumptuous of me to assume that you would want this, but I got to thinking that the loft was too small for both of our things, and a developer looking to revitalize the area made me an offer. Then I found this place and it just seemed perfect. A convent school stood here until it was destroyed by fire fifteen years ago; an architect bought the land and designed this place for himself but he decided to move back East so it was for sale."

"You bought this place for us?" Methos repeated.

"I was afraid that if I told you about it that you'd panic and take off - _that's_ what I was talking to Connor about when you overheard us. And then you took off anyway, and I knew that I'd done something or said something to make you run but I couldn't figure out what it could be."

Duncan's hands tentatively rested on his shoulders. "I closed on the dojo two weeks ago and had to move most of the stuff here, but I've been crashing on the old couch there just in case you turned up – I was afraid of what would happen if you came back and found the place totally cleaned out. I've looked for you everywhere I could think of – I even asked Amanda to fly to Bora-Bora to look for you on the off chance that you'd really gone there. When Joe called to tell me you'd walked into the bar looking like hell – " Methos could hear the man behind him swallow hard. "I'm sorry – I should have told you right away and taken my chances. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you."

Methos drew in a deep breath and all the misery of the past month tumbled off his shoulders. He leaned back against the other Immortal's chest and said, "How's your beer supply?"

He could feel Duncan chuckle and warm arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer. "Fully stocked, and there's a store within walking distance if we run out." Duncan's voice sounded lust-thickened and Methos felt a stirring in the body pressed tightly against his back.

"Mac? Since you've been crashing on the couch at the loft, I assume that means the bed is here." He wiggled suggestively and heard the other man's breath catch.

"Upstairs," Duncan said hoarsely.

"Good. Why don't you go lock up, then we can explore the upstairs?" He grinned at the groan his suggestive words produced.

"Methos, does this – are you going to – " Duncan didn't seem to know how to continue, and Methos took mercy on him.

"Since you've already started unpacking my books – and since they do look nice on that shelf – I guess I'd better unpack the rest."

He heard a soft exhalation of satisfaction from Duncan. "Good." Duncan pressed a kiss against his hair and murmured, "I'll be back in a minute."

Methos smiled as he heard Duncan hurry off to lock up and looked back at the books. They _did_ look nice on the shelf, the rich wood making the leather bindings gleam, and it was easy to imagine the other shelves filled with all the books collected over the years. There'd even be room for more he speculated as he looked around the room, something he hadn't been able to indulge in over the past few years living in the types of places Pierson could afford. And over there would be the perfect place for his large desk, still in storage in Paris. He'd need to check the wiring before he set up his computer, though, and maybe upgrade the lines depending on how long ago they had been put in. Not to mention checking the humidity levels of the room, and its air-filtering system, and –

He laughed to himself and shook his head, then once more reached out to run his fingers over the books on the shelf. "Guess you'd better get used to this place, kids, because it looks like we're home."

 

The End

 


End file.
